General Lord Edward Campion, G.C.B., K.C.M.G. (military), D.S.O., etc., sat, radiating glory and composing a confidential memorandum to the Secretary of State for War, on a bully-beef case, leaning forward over a military blanket that covered a deal table. He was for the moment in high good humour on the surface, though his subordinate minds were puzzled and depressed. At the end of each sentence that he wrote — and he wrote with increasing satisfaction! — a mind that he was not using said: ‘What the devil am I going to do with that fellow?’ Or: ‘How the devil is that girl’s name to be kept out of this mess?’

Having been asked to write a confidential memorandum for the information of the home authorities as to what, in his opinion, was the cause of the French railway strike, he had hit on the ingenious device of reporting what was the opinion of the greater part of the forces under his command. This was a dangerous line to take, for he might well come into conflict with the home Government. But he was pretty certain that any inquiries that the home Government could cause to be made amongst the local civilian population would confirm what he was writing — which he was careful to state was not to be taken as a communication of his own opinion. In addition, he did not care what the Government did to him.

He was satisfied with his military career. In the early part of the war, after materially helping mobilisation, he had served with great distinction in the East, in command mostly of mounted infantry. He had subsequently so distinguished himself in the organising and transporting of troops coming and going overseas that, on the part of the lines of communication where he now commanded becoming of great importance, he knew that he had seemed the only general that could be given that command. It had become of enormous importance — these were open secrets! — because, owing to divided opinions in the Cabinet, it might at any moment be decided to move the bulk of H.M. Forces to somewhere in the East. The idea underlying this — as General Campion saw it — had at least some relation to the necessities of the British Empire, and strategy embracing world politics as well as military movements — a fact which is often forgotten. There was this much to be said for it: the preponderance of British Imperial interests might be advanced as lying in the Middle and Far Eaststo the east, that is to say, of Constantinople. This might be denied, but it was a feasible proposition. The present operations on the Western front, arduous, and even creditable, as they might have been until relatively lately, were very remote from our Far-Eastern possessions and mitigated from, rather than added to, our prestige. In addition, the unfortunate display in front of Constantinople in the beginning of the war had almost eliminated our prestige with the Mohammedan races. Thus a demonstration in enormous force in any region between European Turkey and the north-western frontiers of India might point out to Mohammedans, Hindus, and other Eastern races, what overwhelming forces Great Britain, were she so minded, could put into the field. It is true that that would mean the certain loss of the war on the Western front, with corresponding loss of prestige in the West. But the wiping out of the French republic would convey little to the Eastern races, whereas we could no doubt make terms with the enemy nations, as a price for abandoning our allies, that might well leave the Empire, not only intact, but actually increased in colonial extent, since it was unlikely that the enemy empires would wish to be burdened with colonies for some time.

General Campion was not overpoweringly sentimental over the idea of the abandonment of our allies. They had won his respect as fighting organizations, and that, to the professional soldier, is a great deal; but still he was a professional soldier, and the prospect of widening the bounds of the British Empire could not be contemptuously dismissed at the price of rather sentimental dishonour. Such bargains had been struck before during wars involving many nations, and doubtless such bargains would be struck again. In addition, votes might be gained by the Government from the small but relatively noisy and menacing part of the British population that favoured the enemy nations.

But when it came to tactics — which it should be remembered concerns itself with the movement of troops actually in contact with enemy forces — General Campion had no doubt that that plan was the conception of the brain of a madman. The dishonour of such a proceeding must of course be considered — and its impracticability was hopeless. The dreadful nature of what would be our debacle did we attempt to evacuate the Western front might well be unknown to, or might be deliberately ignored by, the civilian mind. But the general could almost see the horrors as a picture — and, professional soldier as he was, his mind shuddered at the picture. They had by now in the country enormous bodies of troops who had hitherto not come into contact with the enemy forces. Did they attempt to withdraw these in the first place the native population would at once turn from a friendly into a bitterly hostile factor, and moving troops through hostile country is to the nth power a more lengthy matter than moving them through territory where the native populations lend a helping hand, or are at least not obstructive. They had in addition this enormous force to ration, and they would doubtless have to supply them with ammunition on the almost certain breaking through of the enemy forces. It would be impossible to do this without the use of the local railways — and the use of these would at once be prohibited. If, on the other hand, they attempted to begin the evacuation by shortening the front, the operation would be very difficult with troops who, by now, were almost solely men trained only in trench warfare, with officers totally unused to that keeping up of communications between units which is the life and breath of a retreating army. Training, in fact, in that element had been almost abandoned in the training camps where instruction was almost limited to bomb-throwing, the use of machine-guns, and other departments which had been forced on the War Office by eloquent civilians — to the almost complete neglect of the rifle. Thus at the mere hint of a retreat the enemy forces must break through and come upon the vast, unorganised, or semi-organised bodies of troops in the rear . . .

The temptation for the professional soldier was to regard such a state of things with equanimity. Generals have not infrequently enormously distinguished themselves by holding up retreats from the rear when vanguard commanders have disastrously failed. But General Campion resisted the temptation of even hoping that this chance of distinguishing himself might offer itself. He could not contemplate with equanimity the slaughter of great bodies of men under his command, and not even a successful retreating action of that description could be carried out without horrible slaughter. And he would have little hope of conducting necessarily delicate and very hurried movements with an army that, except for its rough training in trench warfare, was practically civilian in texture. So that although, naturally, he had made his plans for such an eventuality, having indeed in his private quarters four enormous paper-covered blackboards upon which he had changed daily the names of units according as they passed from his hands or came into them and became available, he prayed specifically every night before retiring to bed that the task might not be cast upon his shoulders. He prized very much his universal popularity in his command, and he could not bear to think of how the eyes of the Army would regard him as he put upon them a strain so appalling and such unbearable sufferings. He had, moreover, put that aspect of the matter very strongly in a memorandum that he had prepared in answer to a request from the home Government for a scheme by which an evacuation might be effected. But he considered that the civilian element in the Government was so entirely indifferent to the sufferings of the men engaged in these operations, and was so completely ignorant of what are military exigencies, that the words he had devoted to that department of the subject were merely wasted . . .

So everything pushed him into writing confidentially to the Secretary of State for War a communication that he knew must be singularly distasteful to a number of the gentlemen who would peruse it. He chuckled indeed as he wrote, the open door behind him and the sunlight pouring in on his radiant figure. He said:

‘Sit down, Tietjens. Levin, I shall not want you for ten minutes,’ without raising his head, and went on writing. It annoyed him that, from the corner of his eye, he could see that Tietjens was still standing, and he said rather irritably: ‘Sit down, sit down . . . ’

He wrote:

‘It is pretty generally held here by the native population that the present very serious derangement of traffic, if not actively promoted, is at least winked at by the Government of this country. It is, that is to say, intended to give us a taste of what would happen if I took any measures here for returning any large body of men to the home country or elsewhere, and it is said also to be a demonstration in favour of a single command — a measure which is here regarded by a great weight of instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful conclusion of hostilities . . . ’

The general paused over that sentence. It came very near the quick. For himself he was absolutely in favour of a single command, and in his opinion, too, it was indispensable to any sort of conclusion of hostilities at all. The whole of military history, in so far as it concerned allied operations of any sort — from the campaigns of Xerxes and operations during the wars of the Greeks and Romans, to the campaigns of Marlborough and Napoleon and the Prussian operations of 1866 and 1870 — pointed to the conclusion that a relatively small force acting homogeneously was, to the nth power again, more effective than vastly superior forces of allies acting only imperfectly in accord or not in accord at all. Modern development in arms had made no shade at all of difference to strategy and had made differences merely of time and numbers to tactics. To-day, as in the days of the Greek Wars of the Allies, success depended on apt timing of the arrival of forces at given points, and it made no difference whether your lethal weapons acted from a distance of thirty miles or were held and operated by hand; whether you dealt death from above or below the surface of the ground, through the air by dropped missiles or by mephitic and torturing vapours. What won combats, campaigns, and, in the end, wars, was the brain which timed the arrival of forces at given points — and that must be one brain which could command their presence at these points, not a half-dozen authorities requesting each other to perform operations which might or might not fall in with the ideas or the prejudices of any one or other of the half-dozen . . .

Levin came in noiselessly, slid a memorandum slip on to the blanket beside the paper on which the general was writing. The general read: T. agrees completely, sir, with your diagnosis of the facts, except that he is much more ready to accept General O’H.’s acts as reasonable. He places himself entirely in your hands.

The general heaved an immense sigh of relief. The sunlight streaming in became very bright. He had had a real sinking at the heart when Tietjens had boggled for a second over putting on his belt. An officer may not demand or insist on a court martial. But he, Campion, could not in decency have refused Tietjens his court martial if he stood out for it. He had a right to clear his character publicly. It would have been impossible to refuse him. Then the fat would have been in the fire. For, knowing O’Hara through pretty nearly twenty-five years — or it must be thirty! — of service Campion was pretty certain that O’Hara had made a drunken beast of himself. Yet he was very attached to O’Hara — one of the old type of rough-diamond generals who swore your head off, but were damn capable men! . . . It was a tremendous relief.

He said sharply:

‘Sit down, can’t you, Tietjens! You irritate me by standing there!’ He said to himself: ‘An obstinate fellow . . . Why, he’s gone!’ and his mind and eyes being occupied by the sentence he had last written, the sense of irritation remained with him. He re-read the closing clause: ‘ . . . a single command — a measure which is here regarded by a great weight of instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful termination of hostilities . . . ’

He looked at this, whistling beneath his breath. It was pretty thick. He was not asked for his opinion as to the single command: yet he decidedly wanted to get it in and was pretty well prepared to stand the consequences. The consequences might be something pretty bad: he might be sent home. That was quite possible. That, even, was better than what was happening to poor Puffies, who was being starved of men. He had been at Sandhurst with Puffles, and they had got their commissions on the same day to the same regiment. A damn good soldier, but too hot-tempered. He was making an extraordinarily good thing of it in spite of his shortage of men, which was the talk of the army. But it must be damn agonizing for him, and a very improper strain on his men. One day — as soon as the weather broke — the enemy must break through. Then he, Puffies, would be sent home. That was what the fellows at Westminster and in Downing Street wanted. Puffles had been a great deal too free with his tongue. They would not send him home before he had a disaster because, unless he were in disgrace, he would be a thorn in their sides: whereas if he were disgraced no one much would listen to him. It was smart practice . . . Sharp practice!

He tossed the sheet on which he had been writing across the table and said to Tietjens:

‘Look at that, will you?’ In the centre of the hut Tietjens was sitting bulkily on a bully-beef case that had been brought in ceremoniously by a runner. ‘He does look beastly shabby,’ the general said. ‘There are three . . . four grease stains on his tunic. He ought to get his hair cut!’ He added: ‘It’s a perfectly damnable business. No one but this fellow would have got into it. He’s a firebrand. That’s what he is. A regular firebrand!’

Tietjens’ troubles had really shaken the general not a little. He was left up in the air. He had lived the greater part of his life with his sister, Lady Claudine Sandbach, and the greater part of the remainder of his life at Groby, at any rate after he came home from India and during the reign of Tietjens’ father. He had idolized Tietjens’ mother, who was a saint! What indeed there had been of the idyllic in his life had really all passed at Groby, if he came to think of it. India was not so bad, but one had to be young to enjoy that . . .

Indeed, only the day before yesterday he had been thinking that if this letter that he was thinking out did result in his being sent back, he should propose to stand for the half of the Cleveland Parliamentary Division in which Groby stood. What with the Groby influence and his nephew’s in the country districts, though Castlemaine had not much land left up there, and with Sandbach’s interest in the ironworking districts, he would have an admirable chance of getting in. Then he would make himself a thorn in the side of certain persons.

He had thought of quartering himself on Groby. It would have been easy to get Tietjens out of the army and they could all — he, Tietjens and Sylvia — live together. It would have been his ideal of a home and of an occupation . . .

For, of course, he was getting old for soldiering: unless he got a fighting army there was not much more to it as a career for a man of sixty. If he did get an army he was pretty certain of a peerage and hefty political work could still be done in the Lords. He would have a good claim on India and that meant dying a Field-Marshal.

On the other hand, the only command that was at all likely to be going — except for deaths, and the health rate amongst army commanders was pretty high! — was poor Puffles’. And that would be no pleasant command — with men all hammered to pieces. He decided to put the whole thing to Tietjens. Tietjens, like a meal-sack, was looking at him over the draft of the letter that he had just finished reading. The general said:

‘Well?’

Tietjens said:

‘It’s splendid, sir, to see you putting the matter so strongly. It must be put strongly, or we’re lost.’

The general said:

‘You think that?’

Tietjens said:

‘I’m sure of it, sir . . . But unless you are prepared to throw up your command and take to politics . . . ’

The general exclaimed:

‘You’re a most extraordinary fellow . . . That was exactly what I was thinking about: this very minute.’

‘It’s not so extraordinary,’ Tietjens said. ‘A really active general thinking as you do is very badly needed in the House. As your brother-in-law is to have a peerage whenever he asks for it, West Cleveland will be vacant at any moment, and with his influence and Lord Castlemaine’syour nephew’s not got much land, but the name is immensely respected in the country districts . . . And, of course, using Groby for your headquarters . . . ’

The general said:

‘That’s pretty well botched, isn’t it?’

Tietjens said without moving a muscle:

‘Why, no, sir. Sylvia is to have Groby and you would naturally make it your headquarters . . . You’ve still got your hunters there . . . ’

The general said:

‘Sylvia is really to have Groby . . . Good God!’

Tietjens said:

‘So it was no great conjuring trick, sir, to see that you might not mind . . . ’

The general said:

‘Upon my soul. I’d as soon give up my chance of heaven . . . no, not heaven, but India, as give up Groby.’

‘You’ve got,’ Tietjens said, ‘an admirable chance of India . . . The point is: which way? If they give you the sixteenth section . . . ’

‘I hate,’ the general said, ‘to think of waiting for poor Puffles’ shoes. I was at Sandhurst with him . . . ’

‘It’s a question, sir,’ Tietjens said, ‘of which is the best way. For the country and yourself. I suppose if one were a general one would like to have commanded an army on the Western front . . . ’

The general said:

‘I don’t know . . . It’s the logical end of a career . . . But I don’t feel that my career is ending . . . I’m as sound as a roach. And in ten years’ time what difference will it make?’

‘One would like,’ Tietjens said, ‘to see you doing it . . . ’

The general said:

‘No one will know whether I commanded a fighting army or this damned Whiteley’s outfitting store . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘I know that, sir . . . But the sixteenth section will desperately need a good man if General Perry is sent home. And particularly a general who has the confidence of all ranks . . . It will be a wonderful position. You will have every man that’s now on the Western front at your back after the war. It’s a certain peerage . . . It’s certainly a sounder proposition than that of a free-lance — which is what you’d be — in the House of Commons.’

The general said:

‘Then what am I to do with my letter? It’s a damn good letter. I don’t like wasting letters.’

Tietjens said:

‘You want it to show through that you back the single command for all you are worth, yet you don’t want them to put their finger on your definitely saying so yourself?’

The general said:

‘ . . . That’s it. That’s just what I do want . . . ’ He added: ‘I suppose you take my view of the whole matter. The Government’s pretence of evacuating the Western front in favour of the Middle East is probably only a put-up job to frighten our Allies into giving up the single command. Just as this railway strike is a counter-demonstration by way of showing what would happen to us if we did begin to evacuate . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘It looks like that . . . I’m not, of course, in the confidence of the Cabinet. I’m not even in contact with them as I used to be . . . But I should put it that the section of the Cabinet that is in favour of the Eastern expedition is very small. It’s said to be a one-man party — with hangerson — but arguing him out of it has caused all this delay. That’s how I see it.’

The general exclaimed:

‘But, good God! . . . How is such a thing possible? That man must walk along his corridors with the blood of a million — I mean it, of a million — men round his head. He could not stand up under it . . . That fellow is prolonging the war indefinitely by delaying us now. And men being killed all the time! . . . I can’t . . . ’ He stood up and paced, stamping up and down the hut . . . ‘At Bonderstrom,’ he said, ‘I had half a company wiped out under me . . . By my own fault, I admit. I had wrong information . . . ’ He stopped and said: ‘Good God! . . . Good God! . . . I can see it now . . . And it’s unbearable! After eighteen years. I was a brigadier then. It was your own regiment — the Glamorganshires . . . They were crowded into a little nullah and shelled to extinction . . . I could see it going on and we could not get on to the Boer guns with ours to stop ’em . . . That’s hell,’ he said, ‘that’s the real hell . . . I never inspected the Glamorganshires after that for the whole war. I could not bear the thought of facing their eyes . . . Buller was the same . . . Buller was worse than I . . . He never held up his head again after . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘If you would not mind, sir, not going on . . .

The general stamped to a halt in his stride. He said: ‘Eh? . . . What’s that? What’s the matter with you?’

Tietjens said:

‘I had a man killed on me last night. In this very hut; where I’m sitting is the exact spot. It makes me . . . It’s a sort of . . . Complex, they call it now . . . ’

The general exclaimed:

‘Good God! I beg your pardon, my dear boy . . . I ought not to have . . . I have never behaved like that before another soul in the world . . . Not to Buller . . . Not to Gatacre, and they were my closest friends . . . Even after Spion Kop I never . . . ’ He broke off and said: ‘I’ve such an absolute belief in your trustworthiness, I know you won’t betray what you’ve seen . . . What I’ve just said . . . ’ He paused and tried to adopt the air of the listening magpie. He said: ‘I was called Butcher Campion in South Africa, just as Gatacre was called Backacher. I don’t want to be called anything else because I’ve made an ass of myself before you . . . No, damn it all, not an ass. I was immensely attached to your sainted mother . . . He said: ‘It’s the proudest tribute any commander of men can have . . . To be called Butcher and have your men follow you in spite of it. It shows confidence, and it gives you, as commander, confidence! . . . One has to be prepared to lose men in hundreds at the right minute in order to avoid losing them in tens of thousands at the wrong! . . . ’ He said: ‘Successful military operations consist not in taking or retaining positions, but in taking or retaining them with a minimum sacrifice of effectives . . . I wish to God you civilians would get that into your heads. The men have it. They know that I will use them ruthlessly — but that I will not waste one life . . . ’ He exclaimed: ‘Damn it, if I had ever thought I should have such troubles, in your father’s days . . .!’ He said: ‘Let’s get back to what we were talking about . . . My memorandum to the Secretary . . . ’ He burst out: ‘My God! . . . What can that fellow think when he reads Shakespeare’s When all those heads, legs, arms, joined together on the Last Day shall . . . How does it run? Henry V’s address to his soldiers . . . Every subject’s body is the king’s . . . but every subject’s soul is his own . . . And there is no king, be his cause ever so just . . . My God! My God! . . . as can try it out with all unspotted soldiers . . . Have you ever thought of that?’

Alarm overcame Tietjens. The general was certainly in disorder. But over what? There was not time to think. Campion was certainly dreadfully overworked . . . He exclaimed:

‘Sir, hadn’t you better? . . . ’ He said: ‘If we could get back to your memorandum . . . I am quite prepared to write a report to the effect of your sentence as to the French civilian population’s attitude. That would throw the onus on me . . . ’

The general said agitatedly:

‘No! No! . . . You’ve got quite enough on your back as it is. Your confidential report states that you are suspected of having too great common interests with the French. That’s what makes the whole position so impossible . . . I’ll get Thurston to write something. He’s a good man, Thurston. Reliable . . . ’ Tietjens shuddered a little. The general went on astonishingly:

‘But at my back I always hear

Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:

And yonder all before me lie

Deserts of vast eternity!’ . . .

That’s a general’s life in this accursed war . . . You think all generals are illiterate fools. But I have spent a great deal of time in reading, though I never read anything written later than the seventeenth century.’

Tietjens said:

‘I know, sir . . . You made me read Clarendon’s History of the Great Rebellion when I was twelve.’

The general said:

‘In case we . . . I shouldn’t like . . . In short . . . ’ He swallowed: it was singular to see him swallow. He was lamentably thin when you looked at the man and not the uniform.

Tietjens thought:

‘What’s he nervous about? He’s been nervous all the morning.’

The general said:

‘I am trying to say — it’s not much in my line — that in case we never met again, I do not wish you to think me an ignoramus.’

Tietjens thought:

‘He’s not ill . . . and he can’t think me so ill that I’m likely to die . . . A fellow like that doesn’t really know how to express himself. He’s trying to be kind and he doesn’t know how to . . . ’

The general had paused. He began to say:

‘But there are finer things in Marvell than that . . . ’

Tietjens thought:

‘He’s trying to gain time . . . Why on earth should he? . . . What is this all about?’ His mind slipped a notch. The general was looking at his finger-nails on the blanket. He said:

‘There’s, for instance:

‘The grave’s a fine and secret place

But none I think do there embrace . . .

At those words it came to Tietjens suddenly to think of Sylvia, with the merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs . . . She was working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing table. She was looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A little curled . . . He said to himself:

‘One is going to that fine and secret place . . . Why not have?’ She had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions he could hear her humming. Maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet clean! Her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair . . .

Well! she had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths!

Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that he reminded Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet; the general had seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said:

‘Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention!’

Tietjens said:

‘Sir!’ His heart stopped.

The general said that that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement order. He said stiffly that he must not regard this new movement order as a disgrace. It was promotion. He, Major-General Campion, was requesting the colonel commanding the depot to inscribe the highest possible testimonial in his, Tietjens’, small-book. He, Tietjens, had exhibited the most extraordinary talent for finding solutions for difficult problems — The colonel was to write that! — In addition he, General Campion, was requesting his friend, General Perry, commanding the sixteenth section . . .

Tietjens thought:

‘Good God. I am being sent up the line. He’s sending me to Perry’s Army . . . That’s certain death!’

. . . To give Tietjens the appointment of second in command of the VIth Battalion of his regiment!

Tietjens said, but he did not know where the words came from:

‘Colonel Partridge will not like that. He’s praying for McKechnie to come back!’

To himself he said:

‘I shall fight this monstrous treatment of myself to my last breath.’

The general suddenly called out:

‘There you are . . . There is another of your infernal worries . . . ’

He put a strong check on himself, and, dryly, like the very great speaking to the very unimportant, asked:

‘What’s your medical category.’

Tietjens said:

‘Permanent base, sir. My chest’s rotten!’

The general said:

‘I should forget that, if I were you . . . The second in command of a battalion has nothing to do but sit about in arm-chairs waiting for the colonel to be killed.’ He added: ‘It’s the best I can do for you . . . I’ve thought it out very carefully. It’s the best I can do for you.’

Tietjens said:

‘I shall, of course, forget my category, sir . . . ’

Of course he would never fight any treatment of himself!

There it was then: the natural catastrophe! As when, under thunder, a dam breaks. His mind was battling with the waters. What would it pick out as the main terror? The mud: the noise: dread always at the back of the mind? Or the worry! The worry! Your eyebrows always had a slight tension on them . . . Like eye-strain!

The general had begun, soberly:

‘You will recognize that there is nothing else that I can do.’

His answering:

‘I recognize, naturally, sir, that there is nothing else that you can do . . . ’ seemed rather to irritate the general. He wanted opposition: he wanted Tietjens to argue the matter. He was the Roman father counselling suicide to his son: but he wanted Tietjens to expostulate. So that he, General Campion, might absolutely prove that he, Tietjens, was a disgraceful individual . . . It could not be done. The general said:

‘You will understand that I can’t — no commander could! — have such things happening in my command . . . ’

‘I must accept that, if you say it, sir.’

The general looked at him under his eyebrows. He said:

‘I have already told you that this is promotion. I have been much impressed by the way you have handled this command. You are, of course, no soldier, but you will make an admirable officer for the militia, that is all that our troops now are . . . ’ He said: ‘I will emphasize what I am saying . . . No officer could — without being militarily in the wrong — have a private life that is as incomprehensible and embarrassing as yours . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘He’s hit it! . . . ’

The general said:

‘An officer’s private life and his life on parade are as strategy to tactics . . . I don’t want, if I can avoid it, to go into your private affairs. It’s extremely embarrassing . . . But let me put it to you that . . . I wish to be delicate. But you are a man of the world! . . . Your wife is an extremely beautiful woman . . . There has been a scandal . . . I admit not of your making . . . But if, on the top of that, I appeared to show favouritism to you . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘You need not go on, sir . . . I understand . . . ’ He tried to remember what the brooding and odious McKechnie had said . . . only two nights ago . . . He couldn’t remember . . . It was certainly a suggestion that Sylvia was the general’s mistress. It had then, he remembered, seemed fantastic . . . Well, what else could they think? He said to himself: ‘It absolutely blocks out my staying here!’ He said aloud: ‘Of course, it’s my own fault. If a man so handles his womenfolk that they get out of hand, he has only himself to blame.’

The general was going on. He pointed out that one of his predecessors had lost that very command on account of scandals about women. He had turned the place into a damned harem! . . .

He burst out, looking at Tietjens with a peculiar goggle-eyed intentness:

‘If you think I’d care about losing my command over Sylvia or any other damned Society woman . . . ’ He said: ‘I beg your pardon . . . ’ and continued reasoningly:

‘It’s the men that have to be considered. They think — and they’ve every right to think it if they wish to — that a man who’s a wrong ’un over women isn’t the man they can trust their lives in the hands of . . . ’ He added: ‘And they’re probably right . . . A man who’s a real wrong ’un . . . I don’t mean who sets up a gal in a tea-shop . . . But one who sells his wife, or . . . At any rate, in our army . . . The French may be different! . . . Well, a man like that usually has a yellow streak when it comes to fighting . . . Mind, I’m not saying always . . . Usually . . . There was a fellow called . . . ’

He went off into an anecdote . . .

Tietjens recognized the pathos of his trying to get away from the agonizing present moment, back to an India where it was all real soldiering and good leather and parades that had been parades. But he did not feel called upon to follow. He could not follow. He was going up the line . . .

He occupied himself with his mind. What was it going to do? He cast back along his military history: what had his mind done in similar moments before? . . . But there had never been a similar moment! There had been the sinister or repulsive business of going up, getting over, standing to — even of the casualty clearing-station! . . . But he had always been physically keener, he had never been so depressed or overwhelmed.

He said to the general:

‘I recognize that I cannot stop in this command. I regret it, for I have enjoyed having this unit . . . But does it necessarily mean the VIth Battalion?’

He wondered what was his own motive at the moment. Why had he asked the general that? . . . The thing presented itself as pictures: getting down bulkily from a high French train, at dawn. The light picked out for you the white of large hunks of bread — half-loaves — being handed out to troops themselves invisible . . . The ovals of light on the hats of English troops: they were mostly West Countrymen. They did not seem to want the bread much . . . A long ridge of light above a wooded bank: then suddenly, pervasively, a sound! . . . For all the world as, sheltering from rain in a cottager’s wash-house on the moors, you hear the cottager’s clothes boiling in a copper . . . Bubble . . . bubble . . . bubbubbub . . . bubble . . . Not terribly loud — but terribly demanding attention! . . . The Great Strafe! . . .

The general had said:

‘If I could think of anything else to do with you, I’d do it . . . But all the extraordinary rows you’ve got into . . . They block me everywhere . . . Do you realize that I have requested General O’Hara to suspend his functions until now? . . . ’

It was amazing to Tietjens how the general mistrusted his subordinates — as well as how he trusted them! . . . It was probably that that made him so successful an officer. Be worked for by men that you trust: but distrust them all the time — along certain lines of frailty: liquor, women, money! . . . Well, he had a long knowledge of men!

He said:

‘I admit, sir, that I misjudged General O’Hara. I have said as much to Colonel Levin and explained why.’

The general said with a gloating irony:

‘A damn pretty pass to come to . . . You put a general officer under arrest . . . Then you say you had misjudged him! . . . I am not saying you were not performing a duty . . . ’ He went on to recount the classical case of a subaltern, cited in King’s Regulations, temp. William IV, who was court-martialled and broken for not putting under arrest his colonel who came drunk on to parade . . . He was exhibiting his sensuous delight in misplaced erudition.

Tietjens heard himself say with great slowness:

‘I absolutely deny, sir, that I put General O’Hara under arrest! I have gone into the matter very minutely with Colonel Levin.’

The general burst out:

‘By God! I had taken that woman to be a saint . . . I swear she is a saint . . .

Tietjens said:

‘There is no accusation against Mrs Tietjens, sir!’

The general said:

‘By God, there is!’

Tietjens said:

‘I am prepared to take all the blame, sir.’

The general said:

‘You shan’t . . . I am determined to get to the bottom of all this . . . You have treated your wife damn badly . . . You admit to that . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘With great want of consideration, sir . . . ’

The general said:

‘You have been living practically on terms of separation from her for a number of years? You don’t deny that that was on account of your own misbehaviour. For how many years?’

Tietjens said:

‘I don’t know, sir . . . Six or seven!’

The general said sharply:

‘Think, then . . . It began when you admitted to me that you had been sold up because you kept a girl in a tobacco-shop? That was at Rye in 1912 . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘We have not been on terms since 1912, sir.’

The general said:

‘But why? . . . She’s a most beautiful woman. She’s adorable. What could you want better? . . . She’s the mother of your child . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘Is it necessary to go into all this, sir? . . . Our differences were caused by . . . by differences of temperament. She, as you say, is a beautiful and reckless woman . . . Reckless in an admirable way. I, on the other hand . . . ’

The general exclaimed:

‘Yes! that’s just it . . . What the hell are you? . . . You’re not a soldier. You’ve got the makings of a damn good soldier. You amaze me at times. Yet you’re a disaster; you are a disaster to every one who has to do with you. You are as conceited as a hog; you are as obstinate as a bullock . . . You drive me mad . . . And you have ruined the life of that beautiful woman . . . For I maintain she once had the disposition of a saint . . . Now: I’m waiting for your explanation!’

Tietjens said:

‘In civilian life, sir, I was a statistician. Second secretary to the Department of Statistics . . . ’

The general exclaimed convictingly:

‘And they’ve thrown you out of that! Because of the mysterious rows you made . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘Because, sir, I was in favour of the single command . . . ’

The general began a long wrangle: ‘But why were you? What the hell had it got to do with you?’ Couldn’t Tietjens have given the Department the statistics they wanted — even if it meant faking them? What was discipline for if subordinates were to act on their consciences? The home Government had wanted statistics faked in order to dish the Allies . . . Well . . . Was Tietjens French or English? Every damn thing Tietjens did . . . Every damn thing, made it more impossible to do anything for him! With his attainments he ought to be attached to the staff of the French Commander-in-Chief. But that was forbidden in his, Tietjens’, confidential report. There was an underlined note in it to that effect. Where else, then, in Heaven’s name, could Tietjens be sent to? He looked at Tietjens with intent blue eyes:

‘Where else, in God’s name . . . I am not using the Almighty’s name blasphemously . . . can you be sent to? I know it’s probably death to send you up the line — in your condition of health. And to poor Perry’s Army. The Germans will be through it the minute the weather breaks.’

He began again: ‘You understand: I’m not the War Office. I can’t send any officer anywhere. I can’t send you to Malta or India. Or to other commands in France. I can send you home — in disgrace. I can send you to your own battalion. On promotion! . . . Do you understand my situation? . . . I have no alternative.’

Tietjens said:

‘Not altogether, sir.’

The general swallowed and wavered from side to side. He said:

‘For God’s sake, try to . . . I am genuinely concerned for you. I won’t — I’m damned if I will! — let it appear that you’re disgraced . . . If you were McKechnie himself I wouldn’t! The only really good jobs I’ve got to give away are on my own staff. I can’t have you there. Because of the men. At the same time . . . ’

He paused and said with a ponderous shyness:

‘I believe there’s a God . . . I believe that, though wrong may flourish, right will triumph in the end! . . . If a m............